


Damn it, Clint

by indecisive (darling_highness)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, hawksilver - Freeform, post AOU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 02:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4083736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darling_highness/pseuds/indecisive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i wanted to write smut but im on vacation so i wrote a cheap hawksilver oneshot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn it, Clint

There's always a certain level of stress that comes with missions. It's the kind of stress that lasts for days, even weeks. Especially if someone gets hurt. The Avengers were in one of those special times. They had all been knocked off their feet pretty bad, but Clint was feeling it the worst. He had thrown himself at Pietro when he noticed a piece of concrete loose itself from the slumping building behind him, and pushed him out of the way.

The rest of The Avengers lingered around in the hospital room. Nobody spoke. Tension was running high between the abled ones.

“He's usually so careful,” Steve commented.

“He _was_ being careful. If it's in the sense that he was full of care,” Tony reminded him.

The rest of the crew sat around brooding, Pietro frowning at his hands and Wanda braiding his hair. Vision stood by the open window, focusing on the mockingly jubilant chirp of jays from a nearby linden. Bruce sat with his knees up and his chin in his fist. He looked constipated, or so Tony thought. “I could have saved them,” Pietro muttered. 

Everyone looked at him. Steve leaned forward in his chair. “You didn't see it either. It's not your fault this happened.” 

“You have sacrificed yourself enough for Clint,” Wanda objected. The discomfort thickened in the air. 

As time wore on, The Avengers exited the hospital room one by one. Their numbers dwindled to two, Wanda and Pietro hating the idea of leaving their friends alone in case they woke up. In time Wanda too departed to train, leaving Pietro to sulk in the shadowed room. “I'm sorry,” he breathed. Pietro cast his eyes down upon the unconscious figure of the archer and frowned. His face was purplish with bruises and a sickly gash contoured his cheek bone. He reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers along Clint's cheek. His skin was warm to the touch. Pietro sighed and rested his chin in his hand. “You are a stupid man. You care too much,” he scowled. “Here you are now, broken bones and all this,” he gestured with a limp hand and muttered a curse in his native tongue. “Wake soon. Please.” 

* 

It went like this for a number of days. Pietro sat beside his companion, often dozing in the stuffy room. He got little sleep due to recurring nightmares and the compulsion to stay with Clint. So he talked. He talked to keep himself awake, and to hopefully make Clint feel a little less lonely, though he probably couldn't hear him. Pietro told him about everything. Memories, what was happening in the world, little personal things, stuff that made him mad, anything and yet everything. Things he didn't have the guts to say while Clint was conscious. He needed to get it off his chest. Pietro grew reluctant to continue this habit. “I'm sorry,” he sobbed. “I'm so sorry you're in this position. I tried to prevent it before, but I could not- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Clint... Please do not suffer too much. Do not suffer for me...” 

He turned to releasing his grief through too much training and exercise. The sight of Clint laying in his bed, probably permanently damaged, probably suffering until death, _all because of him_ , made Pietro sick in his gut. His guilt drove him from the hospital wing and to the training rooms.

Pietro broke two of the mirrors hanging on the wall of one of the smaller training rooms, a frustrated growl ripping from his throat as he clutched his throbbing fist. He stared at the shattered glass littering the hardwood floor, eyebrows creased in thought. “Damn it, Clint,” he hissed. “Damn _you_.” 

“What for?” A gruff voice inquired from behind. “I was only repaying the favor.” Pietro's head snapped up and around. His eyes fell on Clint. He stood in the doorway, leaning against a crutch propped under his right arm. Clint was wearing his normal clothing, aside from the boot on his broken leg and the bandages attached to his sprained wrist. Pietro stared and stared. “You stopped coming to see me,” Clint said. Of course he knew Pietro was aware of that. “I missed listening to you talk, so I just had to come see you.” His tone was only a little playful, but tired more than anything. 

Pietro went pale, his eyes wide. He disregarded the ache in his wrist, now focused on the pull in his chest. “You could hear me...?” He wavered. 

“Well, I'm not deaf.” Here, he laughed. “Not completely, at least.” 

“I don't know if I want to punch you or... or...” He trailed off, scuffling towards the other man a few steps. 

_“Kiss me, maybe?” A crooked grin curled Clint's lips. His unabashed flirting made the blood run to Pietro's cheeks._

He smirked a little and brought himself over to his saviour, shrugging. “I don't know if I should be kissing old men. Especially dumb ones like you. You might fall in love with me if I do. I'm very... irresistible.” Pietro extended his hand to caress Clint's cheek, pulling his face up to bring their lips together just barely. 

“It's definitely the accent,” Clint quipped. He lifted his empty hand to grab Pietro's hair. They exchanged a proper kiss then. Clint pulled back and muttered, “Did you really mean all that gushy crap you said to me?” 

Pietro grinned, eyeing the archer with a sly look. “Things said when someone is close to death does not count as always honest. Especially for short old men like you.”

“I'm starting to think being in a coma wasn't so bad. Say something nice to me. Like how you love me. That sounded good coming from your mouth.” Clint was grinning now, holding Pietro close to his face so he could kiss his soft lips again and again. 

Pietro smacked Clint with a light hand, huffing indignantly. He was overwhelmed with all that was happening. His throat felt dry, and all he could do was accept those kisses in silence, stunned each time by the realness of it. Never in a million years did Pietro expect requited affection from the charming agent Barton. “Do not play with me,” he exhaled. “I should not have given you such power as this. Your ego is big enough.” Pietro wrapped his arms around the other's waist and pulled him in for a deep kiss, letting his eyes slide closed. Only once did he break away to demand, “Tell me why you did it.” 

“I wasn't thinking. I acted on impulse. I realized it was too late after I pushed you away.” Clint pressed their lips together. He had waited God knows how long to do this, and he wasn't about to stop just yet. “Shut up and let me kiss you. You can be angry at me all you want later. Just let me have this moment.” Clint's warm breath grazed over Pietro's cheeks as he sighed, returning their lips to his. They kissed one another tenderly, ignoring Steve when he entered the room and already initiating a conversation but abruptly stopping when he caught sight of the pair. They were left alone for the most part. Other than Tony hooting at them as he passed in the hallway, of course. Neither of them cared at that moment. 


End file.
